


Photos Are For Losers In Love

by FlowerChiild



Category: Coraline (2009)
Genre: Coraline/Wybie - Freeform, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Yes coraline crew, Young Love, i think, it depends on you, kind of nsfw, we need more coralinexwybie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-20 20:17:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11928459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlowerChiild/pseuds/FlowerChiild
Summary: They were just two kids stumbling through life together. His love for her showed through pictures.





	Photos Are For Losers In Love

**Author's Note:**

> Can we have more Wybie/Coraline pls

There's a flashing light that suddenly pierces her retinas. Coraline grunts and squeezes her eyes tight. She staggers from surprise as she swims in the sea of stars behind her eyelids.

"S-Sorry!" 

It's Wybie. His hands are on her shoulders to steady her, keeping her from toppling into the wet, springtime grass. "Jeez, Jonesy, didn't think I'd catch you off guard."

"You didn't catch me _off guard_ , Why-Were-You-Born." Coraline shakes off his hands. He busies them with waving the Polaroid photo in the air. "Did you take a picture of me?"   
"Yeah," Wybie holds the photo up to the light to see if it's almost processed. "Found this old camera in the attic. Thought I could take some pictures, ya know?" 

They spend the rest of the afternoon running around the Pink Palace premises, taking pictures of slugs and of Bobinski's leftover trinkets. All the while, Wybie had pointed the camera to Coraline and taken a few photos. He had hopes of capturing her youthful freckles and blue-dyed bob, regardless on whether or not he ended up with additional bruises on his bicep. Pretty soon it was raining again, and he had followed her into her room laughing, waving a quick hello to her mother typing mindlessly in the kitchen. They ended up sitting side-by-side in her room, Polaroids laid out onto her carpet. They labeled the date on each one with marker, her numbers neat and rounded, and his were sharp and scrawly and fast. 

"Now, we can remember them," He said proudly, staring at the camera on the floor. "We'll only experience it once."  
"What are you talking about?" Coraline scrunched up her nose and leaned towards him. Her eyelashes were blonde. "We'll experience lots of rain and springtimes in our lives."  
Wybie shook his head, loosely taking hold of her hand and waving it front of her face. "Only one springtime when you're a junior in high school, Jonsey. Each one is different." 

She snatches her hand back and blushes under her freckles, something he can pick out even in the dim lighting of her room. Coraline's mother suddenly opens the door and sets down a plate of cookies, smiling to Wybie pleasantly. 

"No slasher movie tonight? I'm surprised. Are you staying the night again, Wybie? We're having Chinese." 

He watches his best friend from the corner of his eye. She's already scoffing down some cookies and he knows she could care less. "Sure, Mrs. J, I'll stay." 

Mrs. Jones leaves the room and suddenly they're alone again. Coraline is quiet, so he leans against her bed and clears his throat.   
"Yeah, why aren't we watching a slasher flick? We usually do."   
"Uh," Coraline chokes, "We've run out of flicks to watch, Why-Were-You-Born."  
"What?" Wybie cocks his head up at her from his slouch. "What're you talkin' about, Jonesy? We've got The Night of the Dogs left, and Brewing Hill, and -"   
"My television isn't working!" She blurts out, cookie crumbs flying out of her mouth. Wybie looks over the television on the stand a few feet away, quietly playing a documentary. He raises his eyebrows in question. 

"What's up with you, Jonesy? Spill -"

" _Chinese is here!_ " Coraline's father gleefully hollars throughout the house. 

Coraline bolts from the room and he's left baffled on her floor. He looks down at the Polaroids of her, where she's blissfully unaware for a split second that she's getting her picture taken and that the world sucks. Her freckles stand out against her dark hair and the grey jacket she borrowed from him. He sweeps the photos under her bed before he cautiously follows her downstairs and into the kitchen, where she's already pouring noodles and crab rangoons onto her plate. 

Her father asks him about school, and how his college tours are going. Coraline smiles smugly when he says that they both planned on attending community college together ( _"Just don't tell Grandma, though")_. Other than that, dinner is a quiet affair. They eat to the smell of grease and the sound of the rain outside. Usually, Coraline would be telling jokes and laughing hard enough so that her soda would shoot out from her nose. He observes her secretly from behind forks of pulled-pork noodles. She seems drained. 

That night he's laying on her floor, wrapped in her Edgar Allen Poe blanket and stuffed animals. 

"Jonesy," He says quietly. His voice is thin in the air of her bedroom.   
"Wybie," She replies. "Wassup, wassup, Why-Were-You-Born?" 

He sits up and rests on her bed. She copies his actions, except she digs her painted toes into the blanket and stares at her pajama-clad knees. "Are you okay?"   
"What? Yeah, why?" 

"No scary movies, no jokes. And you didn't rip me a new one when I took pictures of you." He scratches his head as he explains this, looking up at her with a questioning gaze.   
"It's nothing, Wybie. Just my girl time."   
"BS, Coraline. What's up?" 

She grows silent. He never uses her full name. He's staring intensely at her, demanding an explanation for the shift in her behavior (although the shift is so small, God forbid how he noticed). She starts playing with her chipped fingernails when he decides to sit on her bed with her. It dips under his weight and she leans slightly towards him. She smells like mud and old books. 

"Am I mean to you, Wybie?" She asks him quietly. "Punchin' you and stuff."  
"Sure, you're mean. But you're a cool type of mean." He shrugged, "Is that's really what's bothering you? Kinda dumb."  
"No, you idiot!" Coraline punches him in the thigh out of habit. "I mean, well -"

He holds her hand in the dark. The inside of her wrist is soft and small in his hands. They aren't really friends based on touch, so this new physical contact feels almost dirty to him. When he thinks of Coraline, he doesn't really think of _soft_ , so the sensation is new to him. It makes his neck and thighs burn. He's surprised she's allowed him to touch her for this long. 

"Do you have a girlfriend, Wybie?" She asks, her face hard to read due to the lack of light.   
"You'd know, Jonesy," He cocks his head. "Do you - have a boyfriend?"   
"No." She says firmly. "Have you ever kissed someone?"  
"Once." He whispers, reliving the moment. "I was like, six. But it doesn't really count. You?"  
"Nope, not once," Coraline cracks a grin and looks up at him, mischief dancing in her eyes. "Do you.. do you want to?"  
"Want to what?"

"Kiss me, Why-Were-You-Born! What else?!" She scowls and rolls her eyes. He swallows and looks at her lips. Hesitantly, he closes his eyes and leans in until he feels the pressure of her lips on his. They were soft and wet, and kind of cold, but it was Coraline, and he doesn't think he could have wanted anything else. She tasted like the Chinese food they ate for dinner mixed in with toothpaste, but it was the best thing he'd ever experienced. 

They stayed still for a few moments, their faces pressed together, before he backed away and opened his eyes. She looked dazed, looking at him as if he were a figment of her dreams. Quickly, he swooped back in and kissed her again, allowing both of them to fall back onto her mattress. His tongue traced her lips and they endured the awkward, amateur french kiss that somehow ended up with his shirt on the floor and his hands on her thighs. 

The next day, she takes pictures of him trying to make pancakes and adds her picture to the pile under her bed.


End file.
